


She's So Lucky

by TheLeftHand



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor: Ragnarok - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animals Rights, Comedy, Dementia, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Drinking, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Magic, Masturbation, Mythology - Freeform, Sex Magic, Smut, Weed, Witches, old people, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-02 09:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13315104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLeftHand/pseuds/TheLeftHand
Summary: For Mallory who has recently finished high-school and found a job at Shady Acres Home For The Elderly, life has been a series of misfortunate events. Particularly when it comes to her "love life". She compiles a list of New Year's resolutions that unknowingly will turn her world upside down, especially after she meets the enigmatic son of the care home's mysterious one-eyed occupant, and receives more than she has bargained for.





	1. "Go to hell, Clive!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to start a new fic, guys! This story has been brewing in my head for about a month now and I thought it was time I finally put it down on paper. It's meant to be fun and light-hearted, no tedious stuff this time. I am also dipping into writing comedy (or something that I hope resembles comedy) because I love to laugh. If I manage to make you laugh as well, even just occasionally, that would be freaking amazing. And yes, of course there will be smut! Hopefully lots of it. And action and feels too. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I have moved the action from New York to an undefined town in England because I suck at writing in details about unfamiliar locations.

Mallory kept looking at her watch and silently going through her list of New Year's resolutions in her head over and over again in an effort to distract herself from the urge to be sick:

1\. Lose my virginity  
2\. Find a better job  
3\. Become a real witch  
4\. Get a boyfriend  
5\. S̶t̶o̶p̶ ̶d̶r̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ D̶r̶i̶n̶k̶ l̶e̶s̶s̶ Maintain current drinking habits

Two more wretched hours in this godforsaken place and she could go home. And get blissfully drunk again in preparation for the New Year. Getting drunk was, as everyone with an ounce of intelligence knew, the best hangover remedy, not bacon sandwhiches (or smoked tofu sandwhiches in her case).

She had tried three times, three times(!), to rid herself of her obstinate hymen but the thing quite literally would not budge. It didn't help that the three different people she had tried it with were completely and utterly useless at the seemingly easy task of defiling her.

Mallory had been in love with the first one. Or thought she had until he'd unceremoniously dumped her. Then she had hated his guts and performed a complex hex ritual on her dorm room floor involving multicoloured wool yarn threads, lard, dried up dung bettle carcasses which she'd ordered off EBay and stale sauerkraut juice that was meant to give the unlucky target of her anger foul flatulance and chronic diarrhea. She suspected it wouldn't work but it had made her feel better, although it took a week to get rid of the gut-renching smell of the sour cabbage which had leaked and soaked the floor boards, and her roommate had once again filed in a request to be moved to a different room.

She had met Clive at a birthday party where everybody had been stuffing their faces with sausage rolls, mini pepperoni pizzas, cheese bites and other similar atrocities while she enthusiastically sipped on her vodka martini and busied herself with peeling oranges. He had walked up to her with a courtship offering of a paper plated piece of cake with no icing on it. Which was a shame, really, because the icing was the only part of the cake she would eat. He had looked her up and down and stopped short of complimenting her plain black skinny jeans, Iron Maiden t-shirt and black army-style boots. Instead, he had cocked his head to one side, and given her what he'd most definitely felt was a seductive smirk but she had thought it looked more like he'd been stifling an attempt not to gag on a particularly large piece of nasal mucus.  
Mallory hated people smiling at her because in the rare instances that it occured she was almost always certain that it wasn't genuine. She just didn't have the knack to evoke happiness in people.

"Nice ring you've got there, Carrie," Clive had pointed at her neck, "Although, you look more like Charlotte. You know, I can be your Mr Big." At that he'd tugged at the belt of his whitewashed jeans and swayed his crotch an inch closer in her direction.

Under any other circumstances Mallory would have given him a condescending smile, poked fun at his lame Sex And The City reference and told him he should aim to masturbate at least two times before his next attempt to talk to a girl but she'd been desperate. Desperately horny, to be exact. And he hadn't been too horrible-looking. Despite his spiky gelled hair, copious amounts of cheap cologne and those godawful tight pants which were a blatant insult to everything denim.  
So she hadn't told him that the ring around her neck was most definitely not meant to emulate Carrie's shunned engagement piece of jewelry but The One Ring To Rule Them All And In Darkness Bind Them. She also hadn't told him that her thick brown locks which no doubt had made him compare her to Charlotte, came in handy when she occasionally cosplayed Frodo at her local LARP club. That paricular confession usually had the irksome tendency to put potential love-interests off.

"Here, have some cake," he'd pushed the frost-less dessert into her lap on top of the pile of orange peels she had collected there and she'd seen his face fall when she'd taken the plate off it and put it on the nearby coffee table.  
"Thanks, but I don't eat cake."  
"Why?"  
"It doesn't matter," she'd stood up and taken his hand, "Let's dance!"

If there was one thing that Mallory despised more than social niceties and fake smiles, it was dancing. But hey, swaying your body parts in close proximity to the opposite sex, especially when both of the participants were to some degree inebriated often led to hanky-panky. And hanky-panky was what she craved: the dirty, sweaty, mind-shattering, rapturous, cherry-popping type. After all, she was the only virginal person above the age of sixteen she knew. It was more than embarrassing.

So she had given it her best. Miraculously, Clive hadn't been repulsed by the out of tune body tremours and weird hip jerking that would have made John Carpenter proud and constituted Mallory's repertoir of dance moves.  
At the end of the night, they hadn't ended up having sex because Clive had drunkenly mumbled something about respecting women when Mallory had whispered "Let's fuck," into his ear and then bit it. Instead, he had asked her to be his girlfriend.

She had hated to admit but after a few "dates" with him that inevitably involved his annoying group of friends she had caught the dreaded lurgy - her euphemism for feelings. Those ominious, insidious little bastards that crawled their sneaky way into your heart, wrapped it up tight with their sticky slimy sucker-covered hentai tentacles, only to later rip it right out of your chest and leave a gaping black hole in its place.  
It had been the overall feeling of belonging that had got to her, she mused afterwards, the cheerful friendly atmosphere that Clive's pals had created around her that had drawn her in. It could not have been Clive himself, since they had absolutely nothing in common. Except for Terminator 2. The only time that they had gone out alone on a date had been shrouded in dreadful heavy silence until Mallory tentatively had asked her newly acquired boyfriend about his favourite film. Afterwards, they had spent two hours admiring Sarah Connor's utter badassery, immitating Arnie's accent and discussing his character's newfound respect for human life and the improbability of the T-1000's floor-merging scene. When after kissing her chastely on the cheek, Clive had said he needed to run and whispered "Hasta la vista, baby!" in her ear Mallory'd known she was in love.

Fast forward a week and she had found herself in his bed. Well, technically, in his friend's mum's bed, since they had all been hanging out at his friend's house and she'd finally managed to get Clive in a separate room. She had undressed and lain on the pink love hearts covered blanket in tingling anticipation of finally becoming a woman. Mallory had played the scenario thousands of times in her head: possessed with passion her man would sensually attack her writhing body with strong assertive hands, grab her neck, pull her hair, kiss her like her mouth was the pool of water in an oasis and he - a weathered traveller lost in the desert, then spread her quivering thighs and skillfully navigate her through the transfixing pain of the first time to a sea of pulsating pleasure and then drown her in it.  
In the let down of all let downs, Clive had not done any of those things. He had gingerly felt up her breasts and in the process given her tickles instead of tingles, then had unnervingly stared at her neatly trimmed mons until she had self-consciously squirmed in uncharacteristic embarrassment. After she had urged him to hurry up and put on protection, he had awkwardly lain on top of her and spent the entirety of the next two to three minutes silently rutting between her legs. There had been no pleasure, no pain, only pressure as he'd struggled to enter her and failed. And when he had withdrawn from her with a blissful smile on his silly face and a condom full of come, his friend's mum's heinous love hearts bed cover had been left pristine. Which had been quite good, if you happened to be the mum in question, but especially grievous in Mallory's case because it meant that her highly anticipated and long-awaited first time had ended with her flower not only not having been picked but with her also being left ruthlessly and painfully unsatisfied.

They never got to do it again. At their next get-together she had gifted him with a good likeness portrait of himself she had spent seventeen hours in total drawing and asked him to go the prom with her.  
"I can't."  
"Why?"  
"God, this is awkward," he had shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Because I'm breaking up with you."

Rejected. Once again. Like it hadn't been enough her parents had put her up for adoption. And it hadn't been enough no one had ended up actually adopting her and she had spent her childhood in between foster homes and government institutions. That's what you got for letting yourself catch the lurgy.

"Can't you can break up with me another time, like, let's say, after the prom?"  
"Sorry Mal, I'm just not that into you."  
"You are breaking up with me with a cheesy movie line?  
"I thought you liked those. Someone out there is perfect for you, I promise. It's just not me. Is that better?"  
"Go to hell, Clive," she had said and meant it.  
Later on, after reading about numerous curses meant to invoke demons who would drag the person who had so riled her straight to hell, she had decided on the diarrhea hex instead, just in case it actually worked.

 

 

That's when she saw him. His tall dark figure, contrasted against the blinding brightness of the grey sky outside the window, pulled her straight out of her memories. Somehow he had sneaked into the lounge room unnoticed by the staff. No wonder since half the people had called in conveniently sick and half of the other half, herself included, were still drunk from the night before. People should be forced to take their relatives home at this time of the year. No one with a family should have to spend Christmas and New Year's stuck in an old people's home. Not even the old people.  
She didn't mind working throughout the holidays, though, since she, unlike everyone else here, both staff and patients, literally had no one in the world. Even the one-eyed geezer had a family. Even though they never visited him.  
That particular thought reminded her of the trespasser in the lounge. She knew the names and faces of every single sibling, wife, husband, son, daughter, niece, nephew, grandchild and so on who came to visit their abandoned elders and he was none of them. Which meant only one thing.

The old one-eyed man had arrived, or for the lack of better words, had been delivered, to Shady Acres Home For The Elderly, nine months ago, shortly after Mallory had finished secondary school and started work there as a care assisant. He had come with a single brown worn out leather piece of luggage, a spare eye-patch for his missing eye and a big iron-wrought bird cage containing two sorry-looking ruffled up black ravens. Shady Acres had an anti-pet policy but Miss Fletcher, the haughty and slightly intimidating in her always perfectly ironed and starched old-fashioned nurse's uniform and permed auburn hair care home director, had explained that in the case of their new resident, a reasonable exception could be made, due to the more than generous payment plan Mr Wotan Grimnir's (that was his name, as they had found out later from the little beautifully handwritten in black fountain ink note stuck in the front pocket of his rust-coloured frayed winter coat, since he couldn't tell them himself - robbed of most of his cognitive skills by the cruel thieving hand of dementia), mysterious family had set up. Mallory, as the workplace's reluctant designated animal lover (no one seemed to care about her "I don't love animals, I just don't like to eat them or see them hurt!" protestations) was assigned the role of looking after the frail creatures who in all honesty looked older than their white-haired and white-bearded owner.

The tall man in the black suit stood next to the large window, pensively staring at the ugly weather, the streaks of cold winter rain obscuring the otherwise pleasant landscape of the gardens outside.

"Excuse me...sir? You are not supposed to be here, the visitation hours are from 10 am till 2 pm. I am sorry but I'll have to ask you to leave."  
"I didn't realize anyone noticed I was here."

The man turned around, with a sway of his luscious shoulder-length obsidian curls and looked at her with confusion seated deeply in between his elegantly furrowed dark eye brows. His pale face ticked all the boxes on Mallory's mental list of features of "unachievable ideal of masculine beauty I strive to find in a man (but would happily resign to the next best thing as long as he's a good shag and has a reasonably sized, healthy penis)". She caught herself unadvertently lowering her gaze to his crotch, and quickly placed her hand over her eyes and rubbed at them, feigning headache. Well, not actually feigning it since her head was pounding with the ferocity of the Old Sepulchre Church brass bells in town on a Sunday morning. But she had to admit, the little of what she could discern behind the aesthetically pleasing creases of his fitted black suit trousers looked more than promising.  
This was getting ridiculous, she thought, ogling random male relatives of the old guys and gals she was looking after, and in this case, a man who could be her uncle, if she had an uncle, and if said imaginary uncle worked as a funeral director or had just arrived here from a attending a funeral. Okay, make that a young-ish, strikingly good looking, well-endowed, dressed in an expensive black tailored suit uncle... wait, was it a Wednesday? Yes, it was, perhaps he wanted to be a witch, just like she did. She shook her head.

Mallory despertely tried to rub the headache off her chiming forehead. It didn't work. She needed to sober up and get laid. Or get drunk again and get laid. Or just get laid.  
"Look, I'm hungover, not blind."

He looked around as if to check whether they were alone and said in a quiet, resonant and disturbingly pleasant voice, "I've come to see my father, pet. It's rather urgent."

Did he just call her a pet? She was not going to stand up for it. The only people allowed to call her that were currently having or presumed to be having their afternoon nap in their assigned rooms down the corridor.

"As urgent as everything else that has been keeping you away from seeing your dad since you got him dumped here? Do you know that you are his first ever visitor in nine months?" she spat out.  
Mallory had absolutely no patience, close to appalling manners and virtually non-existent thought filter whenever she was plagued by the blight of the after-effects of alcohol intemperance.

The tall man licked his thin lips and opened them to utter, no doubt, a blistering remark, judging by the suddenly stern expression on his face and the vicious glint in his sharp green eyes but then seemed to compose himself and gave her the most un-genuine smile she had ever seen. Also, the most disarmingly attractive.  
There was something familiar about him, something about the way he grinned at her, in an ostensibly innocent manner, that reminded her of something, of someone she had seen, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Perhaps she'd try to do it later, when her brain stopped playing death metal against her painfull skull.

"If you take me to him and promise to not let anyone in on my little visit, I promise to not to tell your boss about your drinking at work."

Mallory briefly gaped at the accusation (which wasn't without merit but that wasn't the point) and fixed the man with her most threatening expression. She had large, startling, almond-shamed amber eyes, a shade lighter than what most people thought was natural for a human, that boldly stood out against her olive skin and dark hair. No one could withstand that look of cold piercing menace she managed to muster whenever she wanted to get her point across. Everybody looked away. He didn't.

"I don't drink at work," she hissed.  
"Let me see, what is that I can smell on you, pet," he winked at her and inhaled deeply from across the room, "oh, yes, the despondent, volatile vapours of intoxicating liquor and deceit, although I have to say, well-disguised by the sweet scent of your slick cunt, still drying up on your fingers."

For once she stood stunned, completely lost for words.  
"W-h-hat?"  
"I saw what you did in that closet earlier," his lips stretched in a predatory, salatious smile as he closed the distance between them.  
He had seen her? But how? She had closed the door, unless her dehydrated and confused brain was playing tricks on her. And of course, with her luck a man this good-looking could only be a creepy perv, or gay. However, she refused to be intimidated. Even though she could not afford to lose this job. It would put her in all sorts of trouble with her social worker. Also, it was New Year's Eve and the old monocular git could do with seeing his prodigal son, after all.

"Follow me," she said with an air of hubris she didn't really possess, "Uh-uh," she stood up tall in all 5'3" glory and pointed at his delectably unbuttoned coat, "back off a step, and do not stare at my butt. I can still get your creepy ass nicked for sneaking in here."

 

Loki carefully observed the unwitting thirteenth member on his list of potential portents in his quest to fulfill the Prophecy and stared at her ass with contrariant delectation. He had to admit that the roundness of her rump was pleasantly visible even beneath the unbecoming pale blue tunic which was part of her uniform, and the sway of her hips as she briskly paced in front of him made his cock twitch, despite, or rather because of, her vexatious attitude.  
He supressed an urge to roll his eyes, at her, at his cock, at the sheer ludicroussness of this whole situation. There was no way in the Nine Realms it could be her. He had been watching the girl for a few days now from afar and had found nothing extraordinary in her over-indulgent, nihilistic, reckless behaviour. Moreso, there was no way she was pure - during his silent, invisible watch, he had seen her pleasure herself seven times, two of which were brazenly committed in this very establishment's supply room, next to the neat pile of adult diapers and tubs of Sudocream.  
Had he not been so pressed by time and so stressed by the prospect of his infernal step-sister bringing on Ragnarok, he would have enjoyed the view or even contemplated showing the bothersome little brat a thing or two in the darkness but the blazing fire of his unfathomable wrath at being so unfairlly dethroned had replaced his lust for carnal pleasures with that for revenge.  
But then, there was the somewhat fascinating, if not outwardly bizzare, coincidence that he had happened to find her here, offering paid services to his so called father. And Loki was not one to lightheartedly dismiss such a thing under the pretext of superstition, especially when the forthcoming End Of All Things was involved. It had been said that in the shadow of the approach of The End Days the world would spawn such occurences as omens and auspices the way a filthy pond spawned scum, larvae and frogs.

What was most fascinating however was that she had seen him in front of that window when he knew he had been concealed from the sight of every other lowly human in this blasted place.  
Except for the elderly woman, the lady Doris, two doors down the corridor on the right. She had seen him and asked him if he had come to collect her soul and bring her to heaven. He had replied that the tedious, prosaic task of reaping souls, for better or for worse, was not one of the glorious onuses burdening his shoulders. However, ever the helping hand, he could tell her that she still had a week left before her time was due, so his advice had been to make the most of it since he had heard there was no weed in heaven and there currently was a bag of it under her pillow, brought in doubtless by her mischievous grandson. The lady Doris had given him a conspirational toothless smile and asked if he had a light. Loki had taken her warm, shaky, liver-spotted hand in his cold smooth one, gently folded it in a fist and kissed her paper-thin skin. When she had opened her fingers a little ball of condensed flame had danced above her palm. "It's yours," he'd grinned, "to light up your stash and the journey ahead."

But the annoying, insolent girl in front of him did not have Death silently following her ten steps behind and thus inferentially allowing her weak mortal eyes the ability to briefly see beyond the limits of what humans called "reality". There was something else at play here and it frustrated him immensely that he could not pinpoint the source of it. Perhaps she was simply gifted.  
He had to make sure, all he needed was a single drop of her blood to confirm she was a mere mortal so he could cross her name off his list and promptly resume his search for the elusive half-breed vestal whose corruption would insure the fulfillment of the Prophecy and his subsequent reinstatement as the rightful king of Asgard.

 

"Do you smell pot in here?", Mallory looked back and scrunched up her little nose as they walked through the corridor, "with your astonishing olfactory skills and all?"

When the man innocently shrugged, she made a mental note to cross "Maintain current drinking habits" on her list of New Year's resolutions and uncross "Drink less".  
That was indeed one hell of a hangover she had no desire to experience ever again.


	2. "Are you trying to molest my friend's mum?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, guys! RL has been getting on my nerves lately but hopefully I'll be able to update more often from now on. Thank you all for reading and commenting and I am deeply honoured to be part of this community of lovely, wonderful people. Love you all!

"As I said before, I can't leave you alone with him," Mallory said, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other one perched defiantly on the side of her thin waist.  
"Do you find me untrustworthy?"  
"Put it this way: I wouldn't even let my pet fish, if I happened to have a pet fish, in your care, Mr...?"  
"Call me Lothur," the tall, dark-haired trespasser extended his arm to her, gracefully clad in that fancy tailored suit of his.

Mallory hesitated for a good while before she took it, still very much irked by his earlier arrogance and sexually-charged audacity, and noted with intetest that his measured, playful smile never faultered despite her dithering. When his cool fingers wrapped around hers, it felt as if an electric spark went through the point of contact of their skin and she put all her willpower into keeping her body from visibly shaking. She decided to hide the effect he had on her by the unparagoned favourite, time-tested strategy and bulletproof wisdom of pre-pubescent boys the world over - be unnecessary rude to one's subject of interest.  
"Lothur?" she guffawed, "Did your dad lose a bet when naming you or was he just being a dick?"  
"Oh, you have no idea," the man smirked, seemingly untroubled by her cruel jab, "...but you wouldn't know much about dads anyway, now would you, Mallory, growing up parent-less and all?"  
Her name, uttered in his poisonous, yet mellifluous, voice rolled out like a plump rain cloud and made her insides hurt with a longing stronger than the storm's yearning to lick the ground below with its lightning tongue. Not only did she long for the void inside her to be filled but suddenly she felt herself burn with a profound need for naughty, twisted and even slightly terrifying things, she had apparently unbeknownst carried a desire for all this time, and was more than sure that he would happily oblige to provide.  
Mallory rubbed her temples vigourously, trying to diffuse the dark, sticky thoughts, and together with them the remnants of her blasted hangover, before taking a step back, finally properly registering the meaning of his words.  
"What?! Who do you think you are, you posh cocky prick? Coming here and speaking to me like that!?"  
She was angry, yes, but she was also scared as hell. He had obviously learned her name from her uniform's badge but how on earth had he gathered that she had no parents? Had he been secretly stalking her? Listening in on her conversations or hacked her phone? Had he broken in her flat and rummaged through her things while she had been out?

Using the girl's state of irate shock, Loki pushed past her, opened the door to his elderly un-father's room and strode in imperiously, a condescending spring to his step.

 

Mallory hurried in after him, her hand quickly finding the thin line of the emergency cord, clutching it tightly, ready to pull on it in case the situation escalated from odd to dangerous. She was, however, secretly reluctant to call for help for anything less than a life and death situation, worried about the man's earlier insolent threat of getting her in trouble.

They found old Mr Wotan Grimnir's in his usual place, sat in the big sun-faded plush chair by the window, intently watching the world he was no longer part of. He didn't turn around, unperturbed by the two ravens in the iron cage beside him jumping up and down, batting their wings with such ferocity and cawing in a way that made Mallory's blood curdle. She had never seen the creatures so agitated, not even when she had once brought them a chopped up raw steak the cook had accidentally left outside the fridge for too long. She looked at the alleged source of their disquiet, who in his turn simply rolled his eyes and languidly waved his wrist in the direction of the cage. The black birds instantaneously stood still on their perches and stopped their ear-splitting ruckus just in time before it gave Mallory's hungover brain a haemorrhage. She stared back and forth from Lothur to the pesky ravens, unable to fully process what had just transpired. Apparently her devilishly good-looking, voyeuristic stalker was now also a bird whisperer? Surely, this day could not get any more bizzare. Then it did - the old one-eyed old man, who had never uttered a single word since he had been admitted to Shady Acres, turned around and spoke, making her jump.

“Hvers fregniþ mik, hvī freistiþ mīn?“  
Mallory hadn't the foggiest idea what language he was using but just by the look on his face and the way the words quickly and determinedly rolled out from between his tightly pressed lips, she could tell that at this moment in time his dementia had somehow taken a coffee break and he was completely aware of his surroundings. And not all pleased to see his absentee son.

"Joll ok ǭfu fø̄rik āsa sunum ok blentk þeim meini mjǫþ,” Lothur hissed with equal animosity.

"Œrr est, Loki! ok ørviti.“

"Þegi þū, Ōþinn! Esa þēr vamma vant."

They continued bickering for quite some time, completely ignoring her...until Mr Grimnir's only eye glazed over in pearlescent white, as if he had suddenly developed a thick cataract and his whole body shook in rapid convulsions. Mallory shrieked and ran towards the seizing man, cursing herself for letting the tall stranger in his room and shuddering at the prospect of having to explain the whole thing to Ms Fletcher.  
She felt a pair of arms grab her around the waist and pull her back before she could get to Mr Grimnir who had slumped to the floor, the momentum causing her to bump into Lothur's surprisingly hard and muscular body for someone of his lean size.  
"Shhhh," he bent down and hushed in her ear, his cool breath lifting a few unruly strands that had escaped her pony-tail and making her skin erupt in goosebumps. "It's only a vision. I need to hear what he has to say."

And indeed, as if on cue, the old man opened his mouth and with an oddly resonant voice that human vocal cords should not have been able to produce started reciting in the same unfamiliar language she had heard earlier. After less than a minute, he abruptly ceased his incantations and body tremours, sat up and pulled himself off the floor with surprising agility for a seniour citizen who had just been through a fit. He then brushed down and smoothed his clothes, his only eye, now back to its pale blue colour, briefly glared at Mallory and Lothur behind her and returned to his spot by the window, as if nothing unusual at all had just occured.

Speechless, the girl followed her dark visitor as he exited the room, without turning around or saying as much as goodbye to his father.  
"What the fuck just happened?"  
"The explanation would serve no other purpose but to further confuse your limited human mind. It's best if I lift the burden of this memory from your thoughts for good."  
"Excuse me?" Mallory hissed at him and took a step back, overwhelmed with a strange mixture of curiosity and fear at the sudden thought of him pulling a neuralyzer and a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. At the rate at which the weirdness around her was rapidly progressing, she wouldn't have been surprised.

"But first..." the man's thin lips stretched in a sly smirk as he quickly produced a small round metal object in his hand, seemingly out of thin air, and tossed it to her the way one would do with a bunch of car keys.

Without really meaning to catch it but unable to override her reflexes, Mallory snapped her fingers shut around the hard, much heavier than it looked, orb and brought it closer to her face for inspection. "What the..." her words were stifled and replaced by a loud gasp as the smooth, copper coloured surface of the little marble-shaped item rippled and multiple sharp protrusions erupted from it in every direction. A few of the spikes pierced her skin with incredible ease before she managed to shake the object off. Mesmerised, she watched it fall to the ground but instead of the loud thud she expected to hear when it collided with the grey floor tiles, it simply dissolved into a flash of green light.  
"I'll be damned..." Mallory whispered, wide-eyed, her voice shaking, her fear replaced with pure astonishment, even awe. "How did you do that?"  
Lothur's smile took on a quality of smug content but he didn't say a word. He simply took a step towards her, quickly invading her personal space and grabbed her injured hand. Mallory was so completely stunned by the whole occurence that she didn't as much as let out an interjection of protest when he used his smooth, yet calloused fingers to squeeze her own, drawing a few thick, crimson drops of blood to the surface of her fingertips. Then, he pulled her hand towards his face and took her digit into his mouth. She felt his cool agile tongue wrap around it as he gave it a few soft licks and a final suck, all the while forcing her to stay completely still, petrified by the intensity of the emerald gaze of his extraordinarily piercing eyes.

"There," he grinned, and let go of her hand, "all better now," then slowly blinked and licked his lips as if he had just had a decadent chocolate truffle melt in his mouth and not her blood.  
Mallory stared at him with a blank expression on her face which quickly transformed into shock, then disgust, then shame when she realized that the sudden discomfort she felt between her legs was due to her knickers getting completely sodden with the slick of her desire for the strange, terrifying man in front of her. Blushing, she unsuccessfully tried to stop her thoughts wandering back to the feeling of his wet, cold tongue on her skin and she squirmed when her mind was overcome by a shameless image of the silky glosiness of his black mane buried between her quivering thighs.

 

Loki examined the girl's eyes, wide and bright, pupils wantonly dilated and staring back at him with a fierce determination he rarely saw in a mortal. Her blood was decidedly human. So much so that had she had it tested with the blunt machinery Midgardians used at their most-advanced medical facilities, they would not find anything out of the ordinary. They wouldn't even find anything out of the ordinary had he brought a sample of it to Asgard - he was sure of it - to the Soul Forge healers. However, there was something, something...else, hiding under the surface, something his finely tuned faculties, reinforced by the power of his seidr could detect...and it was only mimicking the human shape, form and essence, and despite doing an extremely good job of it, could not escape his fabled tongue. The mysterious undertone of a flavour in her blood caressed his mouth like a beautifully aged wine, and he closed his eyes and savoured the taste wistfully - a hint of cinnamon, red chillies, burnt sugar and fire, under a cold clear night sky. He had a vision of himself standing barefoot under the void of space in the desert, his feet caressed by the cool touch of trillions of grains of fine sand, and above him the pale light of an equal amount of stars, singing to him in a forgotten, ancient language. He decided then not to erase her memory - virgin or not, he felt compelled to find out more about her, not just because he thought she might after all end up being useful in his plan to retake Asgard but because he found himself suddenly, startlingly, irrevocably, painfully aroused. Loki looked her up and down, taking his time to study her flushed face and plump parted lips, wondering what it would feel like to have them tightly wrapped around his cock and imagining her striking honey-coloured eyes, now sqinting at him in distrust and defiance, tear up at the effort and struggle to accommodate all of him down her gasping throat.

The growing sound of footsteps echoing around the tiled corridor broke the magic and took Mallory out of her trance. She glanced behind her shoulder at the approaching silhouette of Ms Fletcher, and when she turned back to scold her mysterious stranger for trespassing and thus make it look like she had just caught him sneaking around the care home...he was no longer there.

____________

 

The party was going well. Mallory had gone home, rubbed one off, had another shower, downed a glass of an effervescent painkiller and got into her fancy dress costume: all black jeans, tank top and a faux leather biker's jacket, carrying a black umbrella and an ankh necklace around her neck, her hair backcombed and a twirly black eyeliner doodle decorating the outer edge of her right eye. Leaning against the buffet table her friend's foster mum had prepared and sipping blissfully from a blue WKD bottle, she mused over the surreal events of the day. She was of desperate need of something stronger to reinstate her grip on reality but her friend, Paige, dressed as the slutty version of Harley Quinn, had told her that they couldn't get the whiskey out before her foster mum had gone drunk enough to stop caring about what the group of rampant underage revellers was putting down their throats. Which should be pretty soon, Mallory hoped, judging by the broad smile stretching up the middle-aged woman's lips as she tried to flirt with a chagrined Edward Scissorhands in the far corner of the room. Her friend's parental unit was the only one in the room not dressed up as a fictional character, unless the odd print on her t-shirt carried a hidden meaning.  
"Mallory," Paige pulled her to the side, "there's a weird guy asking about you at the door. Shall I tell him to sod off?"  
"No," she poked her head through the door leading to the hallway and squinted at the tall, dark figure at the front door frame, concerned but also excited to see him again. "It's all cool, let him in. He's my uncle."  
"Mallory?! I've known you for more than ten years - you don't have an uncle."  
"I do tonight," she shrugged and gave her friend a cheeky smile.  
On the inside, she felt like someone had poured a jug of ice-cold water over her internal organs and then forced her over the edge of a bridge.

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me? And what the hell happened this afternoon?"  
Lothur ignored her questions, tugging at the jacket of his immaculately pressed black suit and giving the group of half-drunk teenagers swaying to the sound of Imagine Dragons a look of pity, generously sprinkled with disdain.

 

"Why is everyone dressed in such ridiculous manner?"  
Loki nodded towards a skinny young fool in a cheap yellow wig and a red cape, holding a big plastic cup of fizzy foul smelling beverage in one hand and a claw hammer in the other, clearly trying hard but desperately failing at an attempt to emulate his oaf of a brother. Well, not counting the cape, he had got one other thing right at least - Thor did enjoy getting intoxicated on cheap alcohol. Loki involuntarily shuddered - thinking about his brother gave him a headache and filled him with an overwhelming desire to throw shards of ice and set things on fire, perhaps starting with the repellent electronic contraption in the corner of the room blasting that nauseting noise the cretins around him took for music.  
Just when Loki had reinstated peace across the Nine Realms with his immaculate diplomatic skills and unsurpassed political talk, and enriched the cultural life on Asgard with art installations and highly acclaimed theatrical performances, his boorish brother had appeared out of nowhere, unanounced, uninvited and embarrassing him in front of the Asgardian court, waving Mjolnir around in moronic triumph for breaking the hard-achieved, fragile as a thin layer of ice truce with Muspelheim. And had claimed back the throne. Then, in a moment of both joy at his brother's short rule coming to an abrupt end and fear for their lives, Loki, bypassing the Bifrost, had teleported them both back to Midgard, just in time to escape the onslaught of his step-sister's dark forces. She had literally come out of nowhere, ripping the time-space continium with her black, belligerent magic, surrounded by tendrils of cold darkness and flying daggers. Under different circumstances he would have admired her lust for power and unquestionable style, but there was only a certain amount of humiliation from Odin's bloodline he was willing to endure in one day. Later on, he had discovered that the exiled former Allfather's weakened defence wards had failed, letting Hela out from her interdimensional prison, where she had been kept in secret for over a millenium. She was now the new, angry Dark Queen of Asgard, intent on raging war and destruction to the Nine Realms, and he was afraid no appreciation for the finer arts. Thor had gone to New York to beseech the abhorrent Avengers' help while Loki had promised to go and look for their missing "father". Unbeknownst to Thor, Loki, of course, knew where Odin had been the whole time, having placed the memory-muddling curse on him himself and dropped him at the unconspicuous establishment where the former Asgardian king currently resided. 

"It's a fancy dress party. Duh," Mallory huffed.  
"Who are you dressed as?"  
"Death." She gave him a small smile and turned in a full circle to show off her outfit, throwing her volumed-up hair back in a display of pride and leaning on her big black umbrella.  
"That's not what Death looks like."  
She let her head fall to the side and gave her infuriating stalker a critical squint while checking his long wavy locks and fancy black suit for flaws and imperfections so she could have her turn at having a dig at him. She found none but an image surfaced to the top of her head while she studied his nonchalant frown and she laughed.  
"Let me stop you right there, Johnny. Are you Neil Gaiman? No? Then you're argument is invalid."  
"Johnny?"  
"Never mind," Mallory chuckled, "but if someone asks you where Lisa is, tell them it's bullshit and that you did not hit her."

The girl's blathering made no sense to him but Loki found her bellicose attitude amusing and peevishly erotic. He leaned toward her and breathed in through his leer - underneath the alcohol fumes and cheap perfum she was wearing he could taste the same exotic aroma of sweet spices and smoke that he had detected earlier.  
"Are you having fun?"  
"Not nearly as much as I should be having."  
"I would gladly assist in the matter, if you'd let me," he whispered in her ear and smirked in satisfaction when her breath hitched at his words.

A loud scream interrupted their conversation. It was Paige's foster mum, running towards them with a crazed look on her face. She stopped in her tracks, staring at Lothur as if she had seen a ghost and mumbled something incoherent before throwing herself on the floor in front of him with another shriek. She assumed a kneeling position and prostrated her arms forward, then lifted them back up and hurled them forward again, as if she was performing a religious rite or worship of some sorts. Transfixed, Mallory watched her braless breasts bob up and down under her dark green t-shirt with the peculiar slogan of 'Burdened With Glorious Purpose' printed in bright yellow.  
"She's burdened alright," snorted Mallory, "I want whatever she's on. Is it poppers? Shrooms? I asked them not to do shrooms without me."  
She looked at her "uncle" who had suddenly found something of extreme interest stuck to the side of his expensive shoe and was staring at it with burning concentration, rubbing the side of his sole on the floor and seemingly ignoring the spectacle in front of him.  
"My Lord, I claim loyalty to you! I'm in your army!"  
Mallory burst out in a fit of laughter. She nudged Lothur in what she thought were his ribs but was actually closer to his hips, "I think she's talking to you. Do you know her?"  
"No."  
"It certainly looks like she knows you!"  
"Trust me, she doesn't."  
The woman was sobbing now, her pink face wide-eyed, tear-streaked and flushed in what looked like exaltation. A small throng of superheroes, pirates, Avengers, residents of Hogwarts and Paige had gathered around them.  
"Take me! Do with me as you please!" she kept yelling at the man in the dark suit and touching his polished leather shoes as he tried to step back and away from where she was kneeling.  
"Paige, your mum's out, I think it's safe to get the whiskey out!" Mallory yelled at her bemused friend.

She was going to utter his name any moment now, and Loki just could not allow that to happen. Somehow his notoriety had seeped into this godforsaken little town. To Hel with S.H.I.E.L.D and whoever had released the video footage of his grand entrance speech at the supposedly high-security facility where they had been holding the Tesseract. He despised that footage, not only because of the sweaty, pained look on his face which brought back terrifying memories of his time with the Mad Titan every time he saw it but also because they had made a mockery out of his all important revelation to humanity. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be recognized by a group of drunk teenagers as the leader of the New York alien invasion while he was intent on bedding one of them. Resolved to cast a confusticating spell on the crazed mortal, he turned towards her, looked her straight in the eyes and gave her his most perfect white-toothed smile. When he placed his hand on her shoulder and slightly squeezed it to create a better energy conduction in preparation for his hex, the woman fainted. Before he had actually hexed her.

Mallory helped her fretting friend position her mum in the recovery position on the bed in the guest room, as Lothur stared dispassionately out of the window, swirling a double shot of whiskey in an ice-cold glass. When had the bastard actually had the time to get to the freaking whiskey in the midst of all this commotion?  
"I've never seen her like this! What the hell happened?! How come she just passed out like that?! I'm calling 999!"  
"Don't worry, I'll watch over her, she's fine. Go have fun!"  
"I cannot have fun. Your "uncle" is giving me the creeps! He did something to her! Tell him to leg it or I'm going to call the police."  
"Stop threatening to call the authorities, count to ten and let me deal with this," Mallory grabbed the other girl and fixed her eyes on hers. "Trust me, I'm a carer."  
Unable to withstand her friend's penetrating, lupine gaze, Paige looked away and left the room reluctantly.

"What on earth is going on here?" Mallory snatched the glass from Lothur's grip and downing the remainer of the fiery golden liquid in it, watched as he placed one hand on the unconscious woman's forehead and then the other one between her breasts. "Are you trying to molest my friend's mum?"  
"I'm TRYING to erase her memory of me."  
"That sounds equally bad," she circled him around, scowling. "Why? Have you molested her in the past?"

"I should have used a whole different strategy when trying to conquer Earth," incensed, Loki sighed internally. By his latest calculations the number of adoring devotees he had amassed after the NYC fiasco had reached just over a million. They called themselves his army. He had been right all along, it seemed humans craved subjugation indeed. However, he did not see any real use for these people, even though their reverence tickled his ego in more ways than one. Had they been trained soldiers they would follow his orders, bound by duty and honour, but these women, and a surprising number of men, would only do as he commanded if he promised to fuck them first, as a reward. He could not fuck them all - there simply wasn't enough time and being spoilt for choice, his standards were rather high, but he had to admit, Midgard had offered him some very enjoyable and entertaining, well-deserved breaks from the exhausting demands of royal life as the rightful king of the Realm Eternal. While it had lasted.  
"There," he stood up and grinned at his current object of interest, "all done. When she wakes up tomorrow, she won't remember a thing. Now, where were we?"  
The girl, blissfully ignorant of his past misdeeds and the ancient power running through her veins, looked at the clock on the wall with a rueful expression on her face.

"God damn it," she cursed - the countdown was about to begin and she was no where near properly drunk yet! Worse, she had promised herself to welcome the New Year with at least a kiss this time. She had always wanted to snog someone while people were clapping and screaming as the fireworks went off outside, and the champagne, or Prosecco, as was the case, was being popped. She let out a puff of annoyance and looked at Lothur and then rolled her eyes in exasperation. He was a dodgy creep, yes, no doubt about it, but also alluringly attractive, and it was New Year's, and under the dim light his thin lips looked especially inviting. She found herself reminscing about his tongue lapping at her finger again and a wave of warm tingles travelled down her thighs and stopped at her knees, turning them into mush. However, there was one very significant problem - she had no intention of appearing eager or desperate in front this man, despite suspecting he was equally eager, albeit not desperate. And then she saw the solution - a strig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above his head. Well, nearly touching his head, his being rather tall and all.  
Mallory took a wobbly step in his direction, pretended to cough and blurted out, "Well, look at this! Under any other circumstances I would not do this because you freak me the hell out and you are, like super old, but it's tradition and now I have to kiss you."

He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion and she pointed upwards to the small piece of greenery.  
"Yeah, so would you, like, bend down, if you don't mind."  
Her dark stalker looked up and a knowing smile spread across his face.  
"Mistilteinn," he whispered as he picked the twig up with his long fingers and placed it in his palm, "it responds well to my seidr."  
"Your what?" Mallory shook her head.  
She watched with swelling interest and quite a bit of wonder as an invisible force made the leaves of the green sprig flutter, as if they had been caressed by a light breeze, and then the mistletoe started growing. The stalks elongated in Lothur's hand, tiny buds formed alongside it and then opened up into fragile newborn leaves, which then grew bigger and bigger.  
"Did you...did you put something in my drink? Because if you have, I want more of it! This is awesome!"

He didn't reply, but he did bend down and placed his mouth on hers and kissed her slowly, deliberately, like she had never been kissed before, swirling his tongue in a way that made her knees give in further. He wrapped his arms around her small frame just before she was about to slump to the floor and held her tight in place. Her whole world suddenly collapsed and concentrated into one single point - where their lips connected, and as the clock struck twelve, the fireworks that went off in her head completely deafened the ones glowing outside the window. It was his cold hand down her trousers that brought her back to reality and she shivered as his deft fingers slid under the black lace of her knickers and squeezed the globes of her ass, first one and then the other, whilst his other hand fisted in her hair and pulled her head back, giving him deeper access. He was no longer simply kissing her, he was plundering her mouth - stealing her breath, and she inadvertently parted her thighs for him and granted him admission to her burning centre, by then obscenely slick with her arousal. He took his time exploring her folds, sliding his hand painstakingly slowly back and forth, his middle finger drawing wet circles around her swollen clitoris while Mallory bucked her hips and writhed in his embrace, her moans stifled by the assault of his smooth, insistent lips and skillful tongue. Part of her briefly struggled in panic, silently screaming in her head that this was all wrong and that she shouldn't be making out with pervy strangers, twice her age, possessing supernatural powers and being blaringly disrespectful to their elderly, ill parents, especially not in the proximity of her friend's mum's unconscious body, but another part of her called the first part a wuss and a party pooping killjoy and told her to shut up. This was it. She was about to get laid. And it looked like this time the guy she was about to do it with knew exactly how it was done. Be it luck, fate or her late night attempts at casting a love spell at her makeshift altar and summon a handsome, well-endowed man, interested in her, had finally worked, she didn't really know or care. This was the moment she had been waiting for, daydreaming about and longing f... "Ouch!" she yelped at the stinging sensation of his probing finger pushing hard at the pesky barrier of her maidenhood.

"You are a virgin!?"  
"Oh no, don't go weird on me now!" Mallory whined with disappointment when Lothur pulled away from her, his elegant brows furrowed in surprise. "You don't strike me as the virgin-avoiding type! I bet you play bridge with a full deck of all the V-cards you've taken."  
"I don't play bridge," he smirked, "I play poker. Anyway, how is this possible? I heard you tell your friend that your ex..." he paused and frowned with distaste at the colloquialism, "sucked in bed."  
"You heard me tell my friend what...when?!" She madly raked through her memories to a conversation she had had with Paige a few days ago. They had been eating a greasy takeaway after a night out and giggling at funny Tumblr accounts on her laptop. At her flat. Just the two of them. Alone. "How?!  
"I believe I was the first to ask," he folded his long arms in front of his chest and graced her with a playful smile. For some, no doubt, disturbing reason finding out that she still had her cherry intact made the strange man beam with happiness - he looked like he had just won the loterry.  
"He...I...it didn't work out when we...nevermind...Who are you, why have you been spying on me and what the fuck do you want?"  
"The answers to the first two questions don't really concern you at this moment in time but there is indeed something that I..."  
"Wait!" Mallory cut him off raising her arms protectively, trying to stay as composed as possible in the face of supernatural danger, "I know what you are going to say and I don't want to hear it - you are going to make me an offer I can't refuse, bla di bla; well, I can, and I am refusing it, so you may drag your arse back to where you came from, which at this point I am most certainly sure is hell because I never meant to summon Satan or any of his demons. Only ordinary human boys, with extraordinary dicks. Now off you go." He just stood there, grinning at her like the Cheshire cat, his head cocked to the side. "Please," she added. She blamed the shot of whiskey for her high-pitched voice and uncharacteristic use of polite words and balled her trembling hands into fists, crossing her still raised arms in front of her face. Mallory was almost sure the gesture was meant to be at least somewhat protective against diabolical creatures.  
The tall man in the black suit laughed, took hold of her arms and gently lowered them to her sides, his green eyes glinting.  
"I am not a demon, but I do have an irresistible proposal for you," he murmured sinfully in her ear before resuming his assault on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably guess I nerded out and raided the Poetic Edda for these :) From Old Norse:
> 
> “Hvers fregniþ mik, hvī freistiþ mīn?“ What hast thou to ask? Why comest thou hither?
> 
> "Joll ok ǭfu fø̄rik āsa sunum ok blentk þeim meini mjǫþ.” Bale and hatred I bring to the gods and their mead with venom I mix.
> 
> "Œrr est, Loki! ok ørviti.“ Mad art thou, Loki, and little of wit.
> 
> "Þegi þū, Ōþinn! Esa þēr vamma vant." Be silent, Othin! Sinless thou art not thyself.


End file.
